


How I Long For Yesterday

by sweetbutterbliss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek is a Failwolf, Established Relationship, F/M, Fights, Frottage, M/M, Making Up, Pack Dynamics, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbutterbliss/pseuds/sweetbutterbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles blinks, his throat going dry, and he moves his thumb without thinking - liking the post. He feels a surge of petty satisfaction. At least the fucker will know he knows now.  He stands up, his body feeling too heavy, and he blows out the already guttering candles. He lets out a sob of frustration when the last one won't fucking blow out.  But he sucks it back in and bites down on his tongue, using his thumb and forefinger instead.</p><p>He throws himself into their empty bed without undressing. He lies there repeating the words 'Derek blew me off for Isaac' over and over.  He tells himself to shut up while rearranging his pillow violently, but he goes to sleep with the refrain continuing its painful loop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Long For Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> From an anon tumblr prompt: Stiles is hurt and angry with Derek because he keeps putting the pack first now he knows how important pack is but this last month Derek has cancelled nearly every date because the pack needs him this last time though was it Derek had cancelled their date and instead took Isaac to the movies because was sad he missed the first night showing it takes Peter to remind Derek that yes pack bonds are important but mate bonds are more important.
> 
> beta'd by [Heather](http://www.haveyoumethoward.tumblr.com) and title from the Beatles song.

Stiles slumps down in his chair, his head barely clearing the table. He eyes his phone cautiously, waiting for it to vibrate. He's made a deal with himself, he's not going to call Derek again until 1am.

Or maybe 12:45am.

He glances at the clock and it is 12:27. Okay...12:30. His fingers twitch and he grips the arm of the chair. The house had smelled wonderful hours ago, now it smells like burned lasagna and if Stiles was a werewolf he'd say panic and sadness. But he's not, so it just smells like a lovingly cooked anniversary dinner that got left in the oven for too long.

His phone dings and vibrates across the table and he almost brains himself sitting up to catch it. It's just a facebook notification from Isaac. He thumbs over it and catches sight of a familiar profile picture. It's Derek and him, Derek wearing sunglasses so he can get an actual picture, and Stiles licking his cheek. 

"Isaac Lahey checked in at the Alamo Drafthouse with - Derek Hale. Finally starting the movie after awesome Q and A! Midnight showing of Avengers 8 ftw!!!!"

Stiles blinks, his throat going dry, and he moves his thumb without thinking - liking the post. He feels a surge of petty satisfaction. At least the fucker will know he knows now. He stands up, his body feeling too heavy, and he blows out the already guttering candles. He lets out a sob of frustration when the last one won't fucking blow out. But he sucks it back in and bites down on his tongue, using his thumb and forefinger instead.

He throws himself into their empty bed without undressing. He lies there repeating the words 'Derek blew me off for Isaac' over and over. He tells himself to shut up while rearranging his pillow violently, but he goes to sleep with the refrain continuing its painful loop.

***

His alarm wakes him and he slaps at it a few times before rolling over. The room is still empty and he inhales deeply, stumbling to the window and seeing Derek's Toyota parked next to his jeep. He shuffles around, getting dressed for work and brushing his teeth, his jaw aching from how hard he's clenching it. At the top of the stairs he takes another deep breath, trying to relax the knot in his shoulders and slowly walks down. He runs his hand along the banister, all the while coaching himself with the words "breathe in, breathe out."

Derek's sitting at the still set table. He's fiddling with one of the burned down candles, peeling the wax off with a claw and staring intently at the table top. Stiles huffs loudly, because it's not like Derek didn't know the very minute Stiles was awake.

"Hey," he mumbles as he walks past. He concentrates on making coffee and pretends that he doesn't hear Derek following behind him. He gets to do that, because he's just a regular old human. 

"I missed it," Derek heaves out a huge sigh.

"Yeah. You did," Stiles turns and leans against the counter, wishing the coffee would be done quicker so he'd have something to do with his hands.

"I'm really sorry. Isaac was sad and I wanted to cheer him up."

Stiles waits a beat, his eyebrows raised.

"Isaac was sad," he repeats back to Derek.

"Yeah. It's really hard for him, he lost a lot of family," Derek says it like Stiles doesn't know. Like he doesn't understand losing a family member.

"Well, God forbid Isaac be sad," Stiles suddenly can't breathe from the rage welling up inside him. He closes his eyes and reminds himself again to breathe in and out, his chest rising slowly as he follows his own instructions.

"I don't understand why you're so mad. I'm the alpha, Stiles. I have to take care of my pack."

"Of course you do," Stiles' smile feels sharp and he sips his coffee without looking at Derek.

"Yeah. I do," Derek squints at him, as though daring him to say otherwise.

"Right. You have to take care of your pack. Super important. Got it."

Stiles sets his coffee mug in the sink, still half full, and goes to grab his bag, blinking back tears.

"You're still mad," Derek guesses, his voice cautious.

"Noooo. Not me. I really do understand. You pouted for weeks when I dragged you to the midnight showing of the last Avengers movie, then when I got excited about this one you suggested I go with Scott cause you'd 'rather have a root canal on all your fangs.' So I didn't even bother mentioning it. Figured I'd go this weekend with Scott. And that was fine."

Stiles stares at the floor for a minute, struggling for breath. "It was fine," he whispers.

"Isaac chose it. I still didn't want to see it."

"Okay. Isaac chose. And you couldn't have said, 'hey, Stiles really really wants to see this one. Can we watch something else? You remember Stiles? My fucking boyfriend,"

"I was trying to cheer him up. That's what he said would make him happy. I couldn't ask him to change what would make him happy," Derek's eyebrows are drawn down, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

"Don't stress yourself out. I really do understand, Derek. You have to worry about what makes _Isaac_ happy."

"You do?" Derek looks like a man treading on thin ice, hopeful but cautious. And maybe a little bit stupid.

"Yeah. No big deal. Pack's a priority. Stiles isn't," he points to himself and shrugs.

"Stiles, you're my fucking mate. You are important. But..."

Stiles holds up a hand to stop him. The word 'mate' always used to make him feel warm, a sure thing, inevitable. But it makes his heart thump too hard now and he can't hear anything over the "but..."

"I have to go to work. We can talk later."

"Stiles. I love you," Derek reaches out to grab at Stiles' sleeves but Stiles dances out of his reach.

"Okay," he doesn't respond and it's petty, but he doesn't care right now. He's not here to reassure anyone.

"Say it back," Derek growls and Stiles ignores him, heading for the door.

Before he can reach it, Derek has moved and is suddenly standing in front of him, gripping his upper arms too tight. His eyes are wide, with fear maybe, and he shakes Stiles a little.

"You have to say it back."

Stiles stares at him and blinks slowly, proud of himself for not tearing up. He sucks in a shaky breath and nods.

"I love you too," he says it without looking at Derek and shakes him off.

"Thank you," Derek steps back out of the way. 

It's not like Stiles doesn't understand. He can't imagine how hard it would be to know that he didn't get to say 'I love you' to his Mom one last time. To say goodbye and not know it was the last time. Right now though...fuck Derek for making _him_ feel guilty this morning.

Now he has to go teach a bunch of high school students about the California Gold Rush without crying all over the damned projector.

***

The house is empty when he gets home. Derek has cleaned up the wasted dinner, the evidence all gone. Even the trash has been taken out. Stiles sighs and checks the fridge for something easy to make. He honestly isn't hungry, but if he doesn't eat he'll wake up famished in the night and he doesn't want to stumble down the stairs and eat dry bread out of the bag in a sleepy haze. Again. 

He's microwaving a Hot Pocket when someone knocks on the door. He jumps and stares at it in confusion until the knock comes again. He ignored the beeping of the microwave and goes to open the door.

"Why are you knocking?"

Derek is leaning against the door frame in his leather jacket, too much stubble framing his face. Stiles has flash backs of being sixteen, terrified and aroused in equal measure. 

"I wasn't sure if you wanted me here."

Stiles smiles fondly because he can't help himself. Derek doesn't have to use any alpha powers on him and he's still pathetically at his beck and call. He bites down on it and raises an eyebrow. He'll wait at least for an apology before he throws himself at Derek; he has some dignity at least.

His hands are already tingling with anticipation to pull Derek in and let him apologize with his mouth on Stiles'. They can fix this. He knows they can.

"I need the bestiary."

Stiles gapes at him.

"You're here...on your own front step...to ask me for something that belongs to your pack? You knocked on your own door?"

Derek lets out an embarrassed huff and pushes past Stiles into the living room.

"That's all you're here for? Not for anything else you might need to tell me?"

Derek frowns and shakes his head. "I know we said we need to talk, but I just don't have the time right now."

"Right."

Derek raises his eyebrows in a gesture of impatience.

"It's in the living room, next to the laptop," Stiles doesn't wait, just turns around to trudge upstairs. He slams the door as hard as he can but finds it wildly unsatisfactory. He re-opens it and slams it shut again. 

He sure as fuck isn't saying "I love you" this time.

He falls asleep in his clothes for the second night in a row and wakes up in the middle of the night. He ends up standing in the kitchen eating bread out of the bag and staring at his blank phone screen, against all of his previous desires. 

***

Stiles is lucky it's Saturday, he really can't imagine fending off surly teenagers today. Or maybe being at work would be better, at least it'd be a distraction. He feels like a pebble rattling around in the big, empty house. He talks to Scott for a little bit who makes sympathetic noises and is good enough not to remind Stiles that he was the one who hated Derek first. His pity party is cut short by Kira calling Scott; at 7 months pregnant she gets priority over Stiles' broken heart. 

It stings to realize he isn't anyone's priority right now.

To distract himself he decides to make an elaborate dinner. Chopping and measuring soothes him. He used to do it with his Mom when his ADHD got too bad. She'd make him stop and read each instruction out loud to her before going forth. It helped. And now it makes him feel closer to his Mom when he drags out her old recipe book, flipping through the pages and reading her neat cursive.

He's chopping onions - he'll blame it on that. Not that he's thinking, "what's the point of this?" No-one but him will be here to eat it. He hasn't heard from Derek, or the rest of the pack, all day.

His vision blurs and he slips, jerking back with a hiss. He holds his bleeding finger up to his eye level and winces. 

"Fuck!" he turns on the faucet and lets the water run over it. He feels like if he starts really crying now, he'll just burst. So he snuffles back the remaining tears and clenches his jaw in defiance.

He's concentrating so hard that he doesn't hear anyone come up behind him.

"Stiles."

"Fuck you!" Stiles jumps, splashing water across his front.

Peter is standing in the kitchen, grinning in that knowing way he has. Like he knows a secret and is thrilled to bits that he's the only one. Stiles has to admit that Peter has gotten better; he's found a mate and has mostly stopped scheming. It's funny how that's all it took to make him stop being a vindictive asshole. Stiles still doesn't trust him enough to find him in his kitchen out of the blue though. Even with his mate, he's still epically creepy, and if he suggests a threesome one more time Stiles may just force feed him wolfsbane.

"What do you want, Peter?"

"Nothing. I was looking for my dear nephew," he shrugs casually.

"Well, he's not here. So you can go now. Thanks for stopping by. Not great to see you, as usual."

"You smell like blood and tears."

"You are _so_ creepy," Stiles turns to rummage one handed in the drawer, searching for band aids.

"You're bleeding all over the floor."

"Thanks for your observations. Super helpful."

Peter laughs and moved into Stiles' space, grabbing his wounded hand gently and plucking a towel out of the drawer. "Let me take care of it."

Peter wraps the towel around his finger and then places Stiles' free hand over it before using a finger at his elbow to push it up above heart level.

"Keep it there for a minute."

"Thanks," Stiles mumbles.

"You deserve someone to take care of you, Stiles."

"What?"

"You heard me."

To his surprise, Peter tugs him into a hug, pulling Stiles against his side without jostling his hand. To his even greater surprise, Stiles lets him. Burying his head in the shoulder of Peter's ridiculous v-neck, he just can't help it when he starts sobbing. The tenderness of Peter, of all people, and the reminder that his own mate hasn't even texted him all day cause him to break down in the way he's been trying to avoid since he woke up. 

He's standing in his blood spattered kitchen, snotting all over Peter fucking Hale's shirt, and Peter is just calmly patting his back through it. _Peter_ is comforting him. 

How much more pathetic can his life get?

***

"You smell like Peter," Derek is as close to the wolf as he gets without shifting. If he had hair on his back it'd be bristling, and his teeth are looking a little pointy.

"Yeah," Stiles says flatly, not bothering to offer an explanation; just turns back to the dishes. 

Peter had stayed long enough to help him finish cooking and had even eaten lunch with him. He hadn't mentioned the crying once, just blathered on about his mate and how he's been trying to convince her to build a house in the preserve, but apparently Heather isn't a fan of living so far away from a Sephora store, and her favorite pizza place won't deliver out in the sticks. He bemoans being mated to such a high maintenance human, but Stiles can tell he doesn't really mean it, and it makes him long for Derek's mock grumbling about the things Stiles does. 

It had been surreal sitting and eating grilled cheese with Peter while a meal that they prepared together cooked slowly in the oven. But he'd also found it soothing as well as making his head hurt a little bit. 

He refuses to cry again, and so he can't even look at Derek. 

"Why do you smell like Peter?" 

Derek grabs his upper arms, making Stiles squawk as he's spun around and dish water slops all over him. Derek buries his face into Stiles' neck, something that he normally welcomed, even encouraged, and more often than not a precursor to sexy times. But this is all instinct, Derek growling low in his chest and using his face and hands to try and cover up foreign scents as swiftly as possible. 

Stiles shoving at him is entirely ineffective. His heartbeat is ratcheting up; he's under no illusion that he can move a werewolf, but most of them at least have the common courtesy to act like he can. 

"Damn it, Derek! Boundaries!" he gives one final shove and loses his balance, windmilling his arms unsteadily when Derek does step back.

"Sorry," Derek muttered still breathing heavily, his red eyes slowly bleeding back to their normal greenish brilliance.

Stiles sighs and slumps against the counter, exhaling in one sharp huff. 

"Peter came by looking for you." 

"But he touched you."

"Yeah. So?" Stiles raises an eyebrow in challenge.

"You're..." Derek's fist clenches and he's visibly struggling to stay human now, "...mine. My mate. Why's he touching you?" 

"No. You don't get to act jealous when I haven't heard from you since yesterday. When for the past two days I've slept in _our_ bed alone. Not when you put other people before me."

"Isaac was sad," Derek pleads.

"Yeah? Guess who's sad now? But that doesn't seem to matter. I mean, it feels like you aren't even interested in me any more. Sometimes I wish we could go back to when we were first dating. Remember that? When you couldn't fucking get enough of me? I do. And I miss being something you gave a shit about."

"I love you, Stiles. And you love me. We're mates. I don't understand why I have to prove my love for you." 

Stiles barks out a laugh.

"The stupid thing is, I think you really don't mean that to be as shitty as it sounds. I get that you have serious intimacy issues, believe me. I've been climbing over those obstacles for three years now. "

Derek opens his mouth and is interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He stops and looks down at his pocket, fishing it out. 

"It's Deaton." 

"Take it. I'm sure Deaton wouldn't call you for nothing. "

"But we're talking." 

Stiles shrugs and turns back to the dishes. "Not like we can't talk later."

He thinks he actually hears his heart crack, like the sound of ice in winter, when Derek actually does answer and goes outside to talk. He blinks back more tears, utterly sick of this feeling. Derek comes banging back in, his mouth is set in a thin line.

"I have to go. Thanks for understanding." 

Stiles just nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth his voice will betray him. Maybe he'd beg Derek to stay, to fix this right now, to make Stiles matter. Complete with foot stamping and tears.

Derek brushes a distracted kiss to Stiles' temple and Stiles quietly hates himself for leaning into it. 

***

"Hey, son. How you doing?" 

Stiles has the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder while he compares boxes of Hamburger Helper. Derek hates it, says it tastes like chemicals, and that's absolutely not why Stiles puts both boxes in the cart. He just really loves it. Really.

"I'm fine, Daddio! You?" Stiles forces false cheer into his voice. Derek had come home, and even slept in their bed, but he'd been even more taciturn than usual. Which, for Derek, is basically mute.

"You're lying, Stiles. Come over," is his Dad's immediate reply. Ugh. He's using his Sheriffy powers of perception again. Stiles can hear Melissa whispering in the background and decides to use it as an excuse to ignore his Dad. 

"Is everything okay with you?" he knocks some more processed food into the cart. Canned soups are his absolute favorite, much better than homemade. Really.

"Yeah. Can't I just want to hang out with my son?" his Dad clears his throat.

Stiles narrows his eyes at nothing.

"Of course you can. No alternative motives? I mean, since the past month I've basically been sexiled from my childhood home?"

"Damn it, Stiles!" 

He hears Melissa laughing in the background; she's always appreciated his comedic genius.

"Just come over, Stiles," his dad sighs wearily and hangs up. 

Stiles squints at the phone before pushing it into his pocket. He abandons the cart in the middle of the aisle, it was really just hate shopping anyway, and makes his way out to the jeep. He pats it affectionately and climbs in, turning right towards his dad's instead of left towards home.

***

Derek is standing on his Dad's doorstep. He's wearing the tightest jeans known to man and his leather jacket, despite the bright California sun. He's holding daisies,his ears are bright red, and he keeps shuffling his feet. Something is definitely up.

"What the fuck is going on?" he turns back to the hallway just in time to see his Dad and Melissa whip back around the corner, leaving him to scowl at their retreating backs.

"Just take the flowers, Stiles." 

"Okay." 

"I'm sorry," Derek mumbles to the hydrangeas at the side of the steps. 

"Wow. That must've hurt. Are you okay?"

Derek scowls and huffs. 

"Can you please be serious for one second?"

"I can try," Stiles' heart is beating too fast, so he clutches the daisies to his chest in an attempt to shield it from werewolf ears. 

"I'm sorry. I neglected you. I thought...I thought since I already had you that I didn't have to prove myself to you anymore."

"So, what? You thought I'd just sit at home and wait around until you had time for me. Because I love you? You must think I'm fucking pathetic."

"No. That's not what I thought," Derek withers a little at Stiles' glare. "Okay. Yeah I guess that's what I thought. Not consciously, if that helps."

"It doesn't."

Derek looks miserable, he's clutching at the railing and it looks like it might be bending a little in his grip.

"Peter told me I was being an idiot. I think if Peter thinks I'm fucking up, then I must really be fucking up."

"So...Peter told you and you believed him. But I told you and you blow me off?" Stiles can't help the bitter tone in his voice.

"I know," Derek grates out. "I've been so fucking stupid, but I can't lose you, Stiles. You mean more to me than anything. Anyone. Just let me make it up to you."

"How?" Stiles tamps down the cautious hope blooming in his chest. 

"I thought, maybe, we could go on a date?" Derek's red blush has spread across his face now, no cocky alpha to be seen. 

"A date?" Stiles ignores the fact that he finds an uncomfortable Derek adorable and keeps a straight face.

"Yeah. I mean, you said I cared more about you when we were first dating. Which isn't true," he hastily adds, one palm held up. "But I thought maybe we could, I don't know, get back to our roots?"

Stiles stares at Derek, the Camaro framed behind him fresh out of storage, and the daisies Stiles is now strangling. 

"Okay," he knows his voice is hesitant, but he's struggling to hide how he feels right now.

Melissa suddenly appears, freeing the flowers and giving him a too-hard shove. "I'll put these in water for you." 

She makes shooing motions with her hands and shuts the door firmly in his face.

Derek's shoulders slump in visible relief and he grins. 

"This doesn't fix things," Stiles feels the need to state, even if it hurts to see the smile fade. 

"I know," Derek heaves a breath. "But I want to fix them." 

"Well, that's something."

He lets Derek hold the door to the car, even though he's always hated that. He never knows what to do with his hands, should he shut the door or sit and let Derek do it? It makes him feel jittery and Derek rolls his eyes at him before shutting it, answering his silent question.

***

It's an exact replica of their first date. Or their first official date; they'd been having sex off and on starting the minute, give or take, that Stiles turned 18. 

Suddenly Derek had demanded a real date. A 'pick you up, milkshakes, movie, holding hands drop you off with a kiss' kind of date. And Stiles had laughed a little until he noticed a warmth blooming in his chest. A real date actually sounded awesome. He'd teased Derek about wearing his Letterman jacket and if Derek was going to pin him (with entirely necessary waggling eyebrows.) But it'd been a turning point, instead of just sex for sex sake and hanging out, they were suddenly a real thing. The rest of the pack seemed confused that they hadn't been a thing before, but to Derek and Stiles it was different after the date.

And now they're practically married, in all the ways you can be without a certificate. In Derek's furry little werewolf brain they're more than married, they're mates. 

But they're a little broken and Stiles feels strangled with fear that this won't be a forever thing. But Derek is trying, so he takes a deep breath and tries with him.

They go to their favorite diner and he eats curly fries in the disgusting way that Derek always says he hates in a too-fond voice. They talk about the pack and Stiles' students but nothing real. They go see a movie, not the Avengers though. Something funny, he thinks. He's not sure 'cause they spend the time making out in the back row. Just like their first date. 

The sky is threatening rain, and thunder rumbles in the distance. Stiles takes a deep breath of the just-before-rain air and grins at Derek, lacing their hands together as they walk across the parking lot. 

"I think I feel a drop," Stiles holds his free hand out palm up and looks up, his mouth wide open. He notices Derek staring and falters. 

"What?"

Derek doesn't respond, just pulls his door open and waits for Stiles to sit down before shutting it with a dull clunk. He makes his way around the car, hunching against the rapidly building rainstorm.

He doesn't start the car, just sits staring at his hands clasped in his lap. Stiles waits, listening to the drum of the rain on the roof echo in the quiet car. He jumps when Derek suddenly hits the steering wheel with a closed fist. 

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Hey. Stop," Stiles presses his palm on Derek's leather clad shoulder and makes shushing noises.

"No. I could've lost you," his voice cracks. "I always...I kind of thought I might lose you because of our life. It's always in the back of my head that you won't make it out one day. That's always how I thought I'd lose you if I did."

"You know, I'm pretty sturdy for a squishy human."

"I know, but I just...I can't believe I might lose you just 'cause I'm an asshole. Just 'cause I wasn't paying attention." 

"Derek. I'm not going anywhere. I'm like a fungus, I grow on you and then I'm impossible to get rid of," he gestures to himself and shimmies his hips a bit.

Derek sits up and narrows his eyes at him.

"Right. Sorry. No trying to lighten the mood with self deprecation,"'he smiles and holds his hands up.

"I hate it when you do that. You don't see how perfect you are." 

Stiles makes a scoffing noise and his eyes burn a little. "I...Maybe if you told me more? Maybe if you noticed me at all." Shit, when did he realize that's what he's been missing? 

"See. I'm a fucking idiot. I love you so much, Stiles. I just, I was never meant to be the alpha. I want to be a good one, but I never got trained for it. Laura was supposed to be in charge, she got trained. I don't know how to...to balance it."

"I know that, Derek. But lately it's like you haven't even fucking tried. It's just always about someone else. I try to be patient, because I know pack is important, I'm not sitting here expecting you at my beck and call, but it'd be nice to think that I factor in at all."

"You do, Stiles. You're just as important." 

"It doesn't feel like it," Stiles looks out the window, not willing to cry in front of Derek again, concentrating on the drops chasing each other down the window. 

Derek makes a wounded noise and shoves the car door open, hauling himself out. Stiles gapes after him when it slams shut; he can't see Derek, and his hands are starting to shake. _He left. He left me._ Stiles' heart is beating out of control and he almost falls on his ass when his door is wrenched open, but Derek catches him and pulls him out, pressing up against his chest.

"What?" is the only word Stiles can manage.

Derek wraps him in his arms and pulls him even closer, speaking directly into his ear. 

" _You_ are the most important thing to me. I've lost a pack before, I can survive it again. I can't survive without you. You're everything to me." 

Derek shakes him a little with each word. 

"Just let me prove it. Please," his voice is loud despite the rain drenching them. 

Stiles rests his forehead against Derek's shoulder. He can't find the words he needs, so he nods against Derek's soaking shirt. 

Derek cups both hands around his face and lifts it up to look at him. Stiles lets himself be kissed, sagging against Derek. 

"Can we get out of the rain?" he asks through chattering teeth, Derek's eyebrows raising and his face twisting into a grimace. Stiles is suddenly shoved bodily back into the car and Derek is back on his side turning the heater up to the highest setting. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm trying to prove something and I give you hypothermia," he continues to chant little 'sorrys' until Stiles laughs at him.

"Stop, dude. I'm okay, I have to have at least one cheesy romance moment in my life. A little hypothermia is totally worth it."

"You deserve more than one moment, Stiles." 

Stiles doesn't even realize that Derek's driving in the wrong direction from their house until they're parked back in front of his Dad's house. 

"Why are we here? I want to go home," Stiles exaggerates his shiver and pouts. "Let's go make up."

Derek smirks and raises an eyebrow. "No. This our first date. I took you here at the end. Now get out and go to bed." 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" 

Derek refuses to answer, just drops Stiles' keys into his hands and leans over him to open the door. 

"I take it all back. I hate you." 

"I love you too," Derek pushes lightly at Stiles' shoulder until he stomps away, leaving the door hanging open behind him. 

Melissa freezes in the kitchen with a spoon hanging from her mouth, ice cream in her other hand.

"Shhh. I've been hiding it from your Dad," she holds out the carton with a smile. "How did it go? I thought you would've made up."

"Yeah. I thought so too," he waves away the carton and trudges up to his old bedroom, flinging himself onto the single bed, glaring up at the ceiling. 

He jumps when the window slides open and a dripping Derek climbs in, shutting it gently behind him.

"What are you doing?" Stiles squeaks, his heart hammering. 

Derek freezes, looking up from removing his boots, and shuffles his feet. "It's our first date," he whispers, eyebrows raised.

Stiles bursts out laughing, too loud and not a little hysterical. 

Derek shrugs out of his jacket and kicks his boots across the room, leaving them in a wet pile on the carpet. 

"Our first date," Stiles is almost howling with it now. Derek shakes his head, smirking, and rests his knee on the bed before straddling Stiles. 

"Shh. Your dad might hear us." 

"You are the most ridiculous person I've ever met," Stiles grabs him by the shirt and tugs him down until their mouths meet. It's a little sloppy until Derek gets with the program, lowering his body and stretching out over Stiles like a big muscly blanket. Holding his weight up with his elbows he kisses Stiles with an intensity that makes him shiver and his knees tremble. Stiles loses himself in the feel of Derek's mouth and the warmth he's radiating, sliding his hands up beneath the still-damp shirt, scratching lightly and then harder when Derek bites down on his bottom lip.

They're rocking against each other; Stiles' cock is almost painfully hard and rubbing against his zipper but he doesn't want to stop or change anything. He wants to spend more time being the sole focus of Derek and his mouth's attention. The kiss is languid and Derek keeps making these hungry sounding noises while repeatedly squeezing his big hands around Stiles' hips. 

They're frotting against each other so hard that the bed is moving, the headboard knocking against the wall, and Stiles is moaning loudly around the kiss when they're interrupted by a loud banging on the door. They both jump apart and Stiles swallows a few times before he can let out a creaky "Yeah?"

"As happy as we are that you two have made up. Could you please go do it at your own home?" his dad sounds long-suffering, but amused.

Derek instantly turns red and scrambles backwards off the bed, while Stiles covers his face and tries not to giggle too hard. 

"Stiles," Derek hisses. "Get up!"

Stiles rolls off the bed, a huge grin plastered on his face. He opens the door and nods at his Dad. Melissa is standing behind him in her night gown, her hand covering the smirk on her mouth.

Stiles tips his imaginary hat and smirks back. "Alright Dadd-i-oooo, we'll take it elsewhere. Not quite like our first date after all," he throws back at Derek, just to maximize the embarrassment.

Derek has his jacket and shoes gathered up in front of his crotch and is bright red, his slightly protruding ears almost glowing from the heat. He nods at Stiles' Dad and shuffles out from behind Stiles, tugging on his shirt to get him to follow. 

Stiles waves and lets himself be led downstairs. His Dad, smiling and shaking his head, waves back dismissively.

The rain has stopped and Stiles stops to smell the air again. It seems like them leaving the theatre was hours and hours ago. He stops Derek's mortified walk of shame with a hand on his chest. 

"Hey."

"Hey," Derek rolls his eyes but smiles. 

"I love you."

He can see Derek's shoulders loosen as his smile widens.

"I love you back."

"Okay. But can we not do this?"

Derek's eyebrows lower and his eyes narrow. "What?"

"This grand gesture thing. Can we make sure it's not a thing. Like, every time you screw up you can't like...buy me a guitar."

"Why would I buy you a guitar? You don't play one. Did you want a guitar? I can get you one if you want," Derek sounds panicked again.

"Oh my God. No. It's from a...Never mind. Just...can you pay attention to me, to _us_ , and we won't have to go through this again? 'Cause I'm telling you, Sourwolf I won't give in next time. I'll be gone. It won't be this easy."

He has a full breath to continue his rant but is suddenly cut off by Derek's mouth. He tries to keep going for a minute before he sags into it. Derek pulls back, his face serious.

"I promise. And I'll listen to you if you say I'm backtracking or not doing my part. Help me learn to balance."

"I can do that."

The house door opens, spilling light across the lawn, his Dad standing framed with his arms crossed. 

"I thought I told you to take it home. My front lawn is not ideal, Son."

Derek squeaks and turns red again. It's amazing the affect his Dad has. 

"Of course, Sir."

He drags a giggling Stiles back to the car, parked a few blocks away, just like old times, hissing at him to shut up the whole way. 

"You're such a big, bad alpha."

Derek glares at him and puts the car in gear. 

"I'll show you big, bad alpha," he grumbles.

Stiles laughs, and after a minute Derek joins in. Everything feels right again, and Stiles laces their hands together, resting his head on Derek's shoulder the whole way home.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr. ](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com) Come message me! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


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